Dizzying Colours
oh man it's an actual ace attorney fic can you believe it no major warnings but there's a lot of depression bc klavier's there Klavier/Simon Dizzying Colours The first time that he meets Simon Blackquill, Klavier isn’t entirely aware of it. It’s an overcast afternoon, but he can smell a storm growing in the sky above. He hopes it doesn’t rain too badly, because the water will kill his motorcycle. Klavier hasn’t been to the courthouse in quite some time. After the hell that was State versus Misham, he decided that a break was in order. He’d been in and out of the country a few times, attempting to clear his head. His boss, the highly esteemed Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, was pleased that he was finally using up his hundreds of accumulated vacation days. “Head out into the countryside,” Edgeworth had said to him, “Or perhaps visit the sea. Either way, get some fresh air. It’ll be good for you.” As he takes a few steps inside - relishing in the aura of determination - Klavier spots the man out of the corner of his eye. Vaguely, he knows who Simon Blackquill is - he’s seen the news reports, but who hasn’t? - but he’s never met the man before. Standing near him, and babbling wildly, is a detective in a white suit. Blackquill appears to be ignoring him as best as he can. Klavier watches for a few seconds, then heads off in another direction. He has justice to find, and not in the traditional sense. - The second time that he meets Simon Blackquill, they're in the courthouse again. The Twisted Samurai has been cleared of murder charges one day before execution. Klavier barely knows this man, but he does know that the Wright Anything Agency is in the defence lobby, so he has to pay them a visit. Everyone is talking, to each other and about everything, except for Blackquill. He's standing a little ways away from the others, seeming uncomfortable. “Hello, Gavin-dono,” Blackquill murmurs, as the golden haired prosecutor stands near him. Klavier hums, “Herr Blackquill. I didn't realize you knew who I was.” Blackquill scoffs, “Why wouldn't I? You look just like… like a sunburnt orangutan. Who else could you be? They played your music in the clink sometimes, if we were lucky.” Klavier flashes a smile, but finds himself at a loss for words. He knows what Blackquill’s original sentence was. - “Since your last visit-” his therapist taps her pen on her clipboard, and he tries to ignore the painful sound- “have you at least attempted to speak to someone new?” Klavier looks at the clock ticking on the wall. There's still forty-five minutes left in his visit if he rounds down, and he already feels like he has to get out. “I suppose so,” he says, looking at the potted plant, the candy jar, and the thirty something framed photos of her dog on the wall. She stops tapping her pen, “It's a yes or no question, Klavier.” Klavier rubs his hair between his fingers. There's one photo of his therapist’s son, small and mostly out of sight. Klavier suspects it's only in here because he's holding the dog. He doesn't want to be here. He just wants a refill on his prescription so he can get out. It's always questions with her, questions that he never feels comfortable answering. “I talked to a colleague,” Klavier says finally. “We haven't had an opportunity to speak before.” She replies, “Tell me about them. What are they like?” Blackquill is sharp tongued and witty, but respectful and calm. He is disciplined and focused, and yet mischievous. Of course, this is all from what Klavier has observed in court. It could simply be a front to keep people out. He doesn't tell his therapist any of this. “Quiet but nice,” he says, “Easy to talk to.” She scribbles this down on her clipboard. Klavier goes back to thinking about Blackquill. - The third time that he meets Simon Blackquill, it's in his office. Klavier paces back and forth a few times, then gets the courage to knock. “Come in,” Blackquill says, his voice obscured by the wood. Klavier turns the doorknob, and he feels his heart leap a bit in his chest. Blackquill puts down the file that he was holding, and greets him, “Gavin-dono. I wasn't expecting to see you here today.” Or ever. But nobody expects to see Klavier. He isn't important enough in anyone’s life to be expected. “You have a nice office,” Klavier says offhandedly. He doesn't know why he came by, but it certainly wasn't to appease his therapist and her ‘five step friendship plan.’ Blackquill grunts, “They gave me my old one back. It's fine, I suppose. Great view of the parking lot.” “Mein Gott,” Klavier fake whines, “you get the parking lot? I’ve had nothing but a brick wall for years.” To his surprise, Blackquill laughs, and bangs his hand on the desk. He takes a moment to compose himself, then says, “I hear that the elder Payne-dono hoped to get this one, so perhaps it was lucky to get it back.” Klavier shivers, “The Payne brothers are such rats.” Winston isn't as bad as Gaspen is, but still awful. Still, Klavier forces himself to have some respect for the elder Payne, he held a perfect win record for seven years. It's at least somewhat noteworthy. “Surely you didn't just come here to compliment my office,” Blackquill says. Klavier shrugs, “What if I did?” Blackquill stares at him for a long moment, “You're a strange one, Gavin-dono.” “Please,” he says, “Call me Klavier.” Blackquill opens his mouth to ask why, then nods in silent realization, “Very well… Klavier-dono.” He supposes it's too much to ask for him to drop the honorific too. - The clock ticks louder than usual. Klavier fiddles with his necklace, and tries not to look his therapist in the eye. There’s a new photo of her dog, sitting on her desk. It looks like it was professionally photographed. Klavier’s mouth feels gross just looking at it. She pushes up her glasses, and tilts her head just a bit, “How many steps have you gotten through with your colleague? Or any other person you might have talked with?” “Two,” Klavier lies. He doesn’t have enough motivation to get out of bed most days, let alone to make friends. She drops her pen, “''Two''? Klavier, it’s been a month. What have you been doing?” The answer is lying in bed and occasionally trying to write a song before crumpling the paper into a ball and throwing it in his overflowing wastebasket. “He’s a very reserved person,” this part is true, so Klavier doesn’t feel as bad, “I’m amazed we’ve made any progress.” She eyes him carefully, but writes it down all the same. The photo of her son is gone entirely, Klavier notices. Suddenly, he wants to get out of the room before it suffocates him. - Blackquill visits him the fourth time. Klavier looks up from the paper he’s been staring at for the past twenty minutes, and forces his face to relax, “Herr Blackquill! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Blackquill replies, “You have a nice office.” There’s just the hint of a smile in his eyes. Klavier leans back in his seat, “Isn’t it? But I take it you’re not here to compliment my aesthetic.” “No, I came to ask why you’re here so early,” Blackquill says, “I thought the doors weren’t unlocked until seven in the morning?” Klavier blinks, “They’re not.” Blackquill adds, “It’s seven ten. And judging by that cold cup of coffee, Klavier-dono, I’d say you’ve been here quite some time.” Klavier blearily rubs his temples, “I guess I forgot to go home last night. But I’ve got a very difficult case to wrap up, so-” “You and I both know that Edgeworth-dono doesn’t have you assigned to anything,” Blackquill replies. “Ah.” Blackquill says, “Go home, Klavier-dono. If there’s any questions, I’ll cover for you.” Klavier stares at him. He can’t go home, because if he goes home, he’ll just climb into bed and he won’t get out for a week. He’s being productive for once in his life. He has to be worth something, and this is the only way he knows how anymore. It’s not like he can write music anymore. “Why?” he asks instead, “Why am I worth risking something?” Blackquill sighs, “Get out before I send Taka after you. You need a good night’s sleep.” Says the insomniac. But Klavier gets up. He doesn’t know why, because he doesn’t deserve it. Not even a little bit. - The fifth time is also surprisingly initiated by Blackquill. He’s sitting at his kitchen table for once, wondering if he can replace his peace lily with a cactus without anyone noticing, when he hears a knock on the door. It’s probably his landlord, asking where the rent is. There’s an envelope somewhere on his bedroom floor with the money, but it’s buried under dirty clothes and various pieces of paper. Klavier shuffles to the door, his slippers squeaking against the floor. He checks that he’s wearing pants, then twists the knob. “Hello, Klavier-dono,” Blackquill says, “I’ve brought you groceries.” Klavier looks at him strangely, “How do you know where I live?” “Athena told me,” Blackquill replies, “May I come in?” Klavier doesn’t move, “How does she know where I live?” Blackquill says, “Would you like these groceries or not?” Klavier moves aside, and Blackquill comes in, placing two plastic bags on his table. He wishes that his apartment didn’t smell like stale mustard. Or that he was wearing something besides his pajamas. Or that he had at least ditched his Care Bear slippers. “I didn’t know what you liked or what you had,” Blackquill says, “So I got you the essentials.” Klavier looks through the bags. Eggs. Milk. Fresh vegetables. Canned soup. Rice, pasta, oatmeal, beans. His current fridge is almost empty, and filled with dishes that he can’t be bothered to wash. “Who asked you to check in on me?” Klavier asks. His money is on Edgeworth. Blackquill huffs, “Maybe nobody asked, and I decided to do it myself.” Klavier picks up a can of pineapple, “Thank you.” - Klavier eyes the scale in the pamphlet his therapist handed him, but he doesn’t know where ‘spontaneously showing up at my apartment with groceries and helping clean the place out’ falls on a scale of friendship. “Four,” he says, to be safe. That counts as ‘aiding in moments of vulnerability’ right? She beams at him, “I’m very proud! You’ve made lots of progress since we last met. Have you been able to make any other friends?” Klavier shakes his head, “Been too busy working.” “Ah,” she says, “Work is good, though. Are you currently on a case?” Klavier looks over at the wall. The photo of her son is back, surprisingly, but it’s been greyed out. He watches it for a while, waiting for it to turn into sand or something, then says, “What happened to him?” She follows his gaze, then says quietly, “He… died. I don’t like to think about that in my place of work. Let me ask you again, are you currently on a case?” He considers lying. He tells her the truth. - The credits have been playing for the last six minutes, but Klavier doesn’t want to move his hands out from under the blanket. Blackquill is fast asleep on the armchair across the room, snoring ever so slightly. Taka is perched on Blackquill’s head, silent as can be. Klavier thinks it’s the first time he’s seen the man sleep. The fireplace is crackling, and is the only light in the room besides the dimming television. Klavier watches the sparks smack against the glass like tiny stars. Earlier that night, Blackquill came over with a box set of DVDs for a children’s TV show. They’ve met a lot of times now, more than Klavier cares to try and count. He’s found Blackquill bent over his desk, eight cups of coffee piling out of his trash can, and Blackquill has left him tea and a blanket after coming across Klavier asleep on his office floor. That’s far higher than a five, in Klavier’s opinion. Blackquill snores softly from his chair, and Taka’s feathers ruffle. Klavier chuckles slightly, pulling his own blanket higher, so that the fibres just tickle his chin. It's late now, it's so late that Klavier doesn't remember what daylight looks like, and that's okay. He's safe, he's warm, and if he breaks, he won't stay in pieces. Maybe he does deserve Simon Blackquill. Just a little bit. Category:Brighty's Stuff Category:Fanfictions Category:Ace Attorney Category:Non-Warriors Category:Non-Dangan Ronpa Category:Worse Category:Klavquill Category:Finished Stories